Miss Bangkok: Memoirs of a Thai Prostitute (3 page)

Meanwhile, we were having the time of our lives and being spoilt rotten by our doting relatives. They delighted in surprising us with sweets and ice-cream, and could never refuse us. We also got to play and run riot with our numerous cousins, finding dung beetles, frogs, and grasshoppers, all of which would be deepfried for dinner.

This arrangement seemed to be mutually beneficial for all the family. When we arrived home to the base, everyone seemed pleased enough to see one another.

I would have loved it if, just once, our parents could have come away with us too. There were plenty of places near my uncle’s cassava farm where
por
and I could have fished together, and I’m sure my mother would have enjoyed gossiping and cooking with her sisters. Poverty severely limits your choices. During the last semester of ninth grade the debates started about who would stay in school and who couldn’t afford to. The bright kids from relatively financially stable backgrounds, including my friend Veena, were planning to attend a well-known school in Bangkok, while the rest of us, more than half of the class, knew that we were coming to the end of our school days. My older brother had also given up school in ninth grade because the government doesn’t fund your education after this point.

I was completely indifferent, however, as school had long since bored me. My homework was constantly incomplete since I had gotten into the habit of just leaving the parts I couldn’t do instead of asking for help. My contributions in class were at an all-time low because I felt marginalised by my lack of academic know-how. I must have given up on myself. I believed that I was good for nothing and, therefore, couldn’t see the point in continuing the struggle to learn.

I was tired of getting up early to sit on the green army bus every morning and then arrive home to an empty house while
mae
was out gambling. And so, I left school without any qualms or interest at just 15 years of age—I have a lot of regrets in my life, but this remains my biggest one to date.

There were times when we were forced to go to the gambling house to beg her for money to buy food; other times I would just plead with her to cook.
Mae
’s answer never varied—a wave of the hand and a casual promise to follow me home in a few minutes. If we persisted, she would tell us to go away by shouting ‘
pai pai
!’ and raise her hand to scare us.

My pleas fell on deaf ears each time I asked for her help. She never took notice of us children because she was too wrapped up in her gambling compulsion, a habit as addictive as heroin.

My younger sister and I were the ones who suffered. My brother Nop had by this time moved to Bangkok in search of work, but also to escape the troubles that overwhelmed our lives.

We had never been that close; however, I did miss his affection. Nop had played mother to me, cooking
kai dao
(fried egg) for me when I was young, while
mae
spent her time gambling and drinking with her friends. I can still recall memories of him hanging mosquito nets over my bed. He was just a boy himself when he accepted responsibility for me. I cherish these memories as they are a rare reminder of an innocent time in my childhood.

What semblance of childhood I had vanished when my brother left. I began to lead a life with no structure to it. I would sit in front of a television screen watching soap operas all day. I did as I pleased. I didn’t know what parental guidance was.

The soap opera
Dao Phra Suk
, which means Venus, became my staple diet. It told the story of a girl called Dao, who had been abandoned by her mother at the hospital immediately after her birth. She lived a miserable childhood. She was treated like a slave by her adoptive mother, who forced her to clean her house as if she were a poor servant girl. She eventually ran away from home, only to end up in a brothel where she remained until she was rescued by love.

I often compared my own plight to that of Dao. Although she suffered more than I, her dignity and morale remained firmly intact. She was a true survivor. When she worked as a prostitute, she deceived men into thinking that they had slept with her by plying them with liquor until they were rendered senseless.

I often wished I had her strength. I secretly prayed to Buddha, asking him to bless Dao so she could find love and escape the demons that haunted her. When I prayed for Dao’s happiness, though, I was actually praying for my own. I didn’t know what true happiness was, but I knew that poverty had no role to play in it.

My life was turned upside down the year I turned 17. That was the year in which my parents separated.

Although I had always suspected it to be inevitable, I was still devastated by their break up.
Mae
’s addiction to gambling had become exhausting and knew no bounds. As in most of these incidents, I cannot remember exactly when it happened, but I recall that she vanished for three days. She had gone to a friend’s house and gambled what little money she had in her possession. I had always been charged with the unenviable task of taking her home every night when she got drunk and could no longer find the way.

For my mother, gambling was a means of escape. For me, her addiction was a source of embarrassment. I hated her for it. I resented having to call to the ‘gambling house’ every few hours, where I was always made to feel unwelcome by
mae
’s friends for obvious reasons.

Por
, on the other hand, had never been one to lose face. Thai men will tolerate all sorts of behaviour rather than risk a confrontation. Fetching your gambling-addicted wife is out of the question and emasculating. But on that day,
por
had had enough and took matters into his own hands. This was most unlike him because it is not the Thai way.

When he discovered
mae
had been gone for three days, he was more than prepared to lose face. And I, for one, wasn’t going to miss it.

The house where
mae
was staying was a short walk from ours.
Por
made the journey in less than two minutes and thumped on the front door. When no one answered, he opened it and called to my mother from the doorway, ‘You come home right now or I will find myself another
mia
. I am serious this time.’

I was standing less than six feet behind him. Although I had seen my parents argue before, I had never seen
por
lose his temper like this.

The women inside remained silent, and
por
stood as still as a statue while my mother taunted him: ‘Well if you can get yourself another wife you better do so because I’m not coming home yet.’

He made no reply but closed the door to an outburst of laughter. This was perhaps the greatest insult that
mae
could have delivered.

I turned and walked away. I didn’t want him to know that I had witnessed this, though I think by that stage he no longer cared enough to be embarrassed.

I ran home, sat in front of the television, and pretended to be oblivious to the events that had just taken place. As it transpired, I need not have worried because he didn’t come home after the incident.

I fell asleep at some stage, only to be woken by the sound of someone howling.

It was
mae
. I crept downstairs and saw her standing in the middle of the room, screaming and waving a broom. Her outbursts of anger were nothing new to me. What was new was the other woman standing beside my father, holding a suitcase.

I recognised her. She worked as a ‘singer’ in a nightclub which my father frequented.

You
farang
s might not understand what these ‘singers’ do. In my culture, such labels are given to conceal the true nature of such a woman’s work. These women entertain men by offering them a mixture of song, sexual favours, and conversation. They engage in long-term relationships with men and like to be showered with presents and money in return for their attentions.

I was immediately struck by her presence, not simply because she was there, but because she was unmoved by my mother’s distress and rage. She ignored her threats and, instead, calmly surveyed our house.

My father stood firm beside her. His eyes were void of any emotion.
Mae
had gone too far this time. In truth, I knew this moment signalled the end of my family as I knew it. I had been through some hard times because of
mae
, but I didn’t like her replacement at all.

I had seen this woman before in a photograph my father had taken. I had disliked her immediately, though I recognised what my father saw in her. In Thailand, we say that an old ox likes fresh grass. This woman was alluring and younger than
mae
, who had unfortunately not weathered life too well.

Although my father wasn’t a rich man, this woman knew she was approaching an age when she would no longer be able to work—time waits for no woman.

So she fell in love with
por
. I suspect that he loved her in return and had confided in her, making him more vulnerable to seduction.

Such relationships are normal in Thailand. It is called surviving, and the fact that
por
had a wife and three children was not relevant. I think she thought we could all live together. You might consider this an outrageous proposition, but polygamy is not a strange concept in Thailand. Although it is illegal, it is still very common and accepted. Wealthy men often maintain more than one
mia
, and each one is categorised. The official wife, the
mia luang
, usually comes from another family of equal standing. She would be permitted to accompany the man to social events.

The second wife is called a
mia noi
and is chosen by the man. In past times, the third wife was usually a slave whose parents sold her to the groom. She would do the chores, but she could also be called upon to produce children. In my culture, the number of wives a man possesses is a reflection of his wealth and virility.

As I sat there watching my parents’ marriage fall apart, I couldn’t help but wonder if
mae
would accept this woman into our home.

My only experience of such situations was gained from watching soap operas where the first wife was usually depicted as evil, though occasionally she could be tolerant.

Mae
was neither tolerant nor generous, which became ever clearer during this confrontation.

There was no reasoning with her. She screamed, shouted, and issued insult after insult. She raised the broom and repeatedly attempted to hit
por
and his mistress on the head, then tried to sweep them out the door.

While my mother screamed obscenities and issued undignified threats,
por
’s lover continued to ignore her as if it was beneath her dignity to react in any way.

She never even squinted her eyes. If I had been an objective witness, I might have admired the dignified stance she adopted in the face of
mae
’s rage.

Por
also remained calm and showed no visible reaction. In fact, neither he nor his lover spoke; they just waited for my mother to tire herself out.

I now believe
por
had contemplated introducing a
mia noi
to
mae
for some time. I think he may have convinced himself that
mae
would be indifferent to such a proposal since she no longer loved him or cared for him. Thai women tend to be pragmatic and in such cases usually share their husband.

Having shouted at and threatened
por
,
mae
issued an ultimatum.

‘I don’t want this bitch in my house. If you want that
garee
(whore), I’ll take the kids, and you will never see them or me again!’

If it had been within my power, I would have forced the woman to leave myself.

My memory of the events of that night is, even today, as clear as if they happened yesterday. I can recall looking at
por
and silently beseeching him to rid our home of his consort, but he never said a word. I think
mae
knew he had already made his choice.

I looked on in silence as his
mia noi
stood there, waiting for
mae
to leave.

Mae
left home that night to stay with a relative, leaving my sister and me behind. As much as I wanted to, I neither slept nor cried that night.

Though
mae
had abandoned us, she was still my family. I felt hurt that
por
could choose a prostitute above
mae
, my sister, and me. It made no sense to me no matter what way I tried to rationalise the situation. I didn’t yet know the impact his decision would have on my life.

Moments later, my father sat my sister and me down to discuss our future. His words sounded almost sinister. He told us that we could live with him and his new wife, whom he asked us to call
naa
, which means aunt. But he must have known this would never happen.

He spoke in a calm and measured tone and asked us not to be angry with him, that he loved
naa
, and that she was a kind woman. We listened to him in disbelief.

The next morning,
mae
returned home and woke us from our sleep.

I was stunned. Two nights previous, life was as it had always been. Now my family had divided, and another woman had become
por
’s
mia noi
.

I began packing what few possessions I had. While I resented
mae
for taking me away from home, I knew
naa
would never have allowed me to live there. It was her home now.

I had always doubted my mother’s ability to look after herself, and I had even less confidence in her ability to look after my sister and me, but she suddenly seemed very organised and business-like. She focused on what she needed to do to overcome what had happened. I had never seen this side of her personality before.

As you might have expected, news of the disintegration of my parents’ marriage spread fast in the army base.

Local women began arriving at our home to offer their condolences and to glare accusingly at my father. But he was beyond caring what anyone thought at this point.

Mae
remained calm and accepted the little trinkets offered to her. I now know the experience was utterly humiliating for her, and she privately said that many of those who visited believed she had got what she deserved.

Mae
also knew that her actions had contributed to the breakdown of her marriage, along with my father’s philandering.

I was already surprised at the change of character I perceived in
mae
, but I was soon to discover how little I really knew her. When she thought no one was listening, one of her relatives mentioned that she had recently spoken with
mae
’s ex-husband.

Ex-husband! I was forced to place my hand over my mouth to prevent myself from screaming the news out loud.

I could not understand how
mae
could have kept an ex-husband a secret for so long. I would later learn that she had once been married to a Chinese man. It was a brief relationship because of his infidelity. I could not help but pity her for finding herself caught again in the same situation.

I asked myself question after question. Had she married her first husband for love and settled into a form of complacency that drove him into the arms of someone else?

It is difficult to imagine how she must have felt all those years ago. But I do believe that
mae
had expected
por
to continue financing her gambling addiction while she did nothing to address her insurmountable problems. You must remember that counselling had yet to be invented.